in and tried her best to calm down. Carter had drugged her, and this was no doubt his place, so she was expecting the worst. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to underestimate him after all.
Farrell kept looking around while considering her options. She saw her gun lying on the table in front of the couch. Which meant that, even if she was to break free from her bonds—which would already be a little miracle—she’d have to cross the room, get her gun, and only after that make it for the door. It wouldn’t be such a bad plan if she knew where Carter was, or if she could actually free herself. Because although she tried to move her hands, the bonds were so tight, she couldn’t do anything to even move just half an inch.
Suddenly, the door behind her opened, and Carter showed up topless and wet. Farrell cursed herself for thinking he was hot. What was that; Stockholm syndrome? No, she couldn’t allow it. He was the antithesis of everything she liked. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. While she was having this internal fight with her conscience, he just looked at her. He stood in the middle of the room and kept staring at her, to the point that she became (even more) uncomfortable.
“Are you ready to tell me where you hid the ruby?” he asked.
Farrell didn’t answer. She looked down at her feet.
“Oh I see you’re putting up the act of the strong heroine,” Carter said with irony.
“It’s not an act,” she replied firmly. “I’m stronger than you are.”
“Oh really?” Carter grinned. “Tell me why you’re the one tied up then?”
“Because you drugged me. That’s no proof of strength, it’s plain manipulation.”
Carter was obviously trying to find words to answer her, but nothing came out for a while. “Enough chit-chat, little girl,” he finally said.
“I already told you to stop calling me that,” Farrell interrupted.
“That’s what you are: a frail, weak, little girl, not knowing who she’s up against.”
“ Whom ,” she corrected. “And you don’t know me either.” Farrell let the silence hang for a little before making Carter’s self-confidence crumble. “Try this: stop considering me a woman, and start considering me a rival thief.”
Carter seemed to be thinking about the alternative. “You’re good, I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you,” she said with a smile.
Carter’s phone rang. “Your timing’s terrible,” he said to whomever was on the other end of the line. “What is it?” His eyes widened. “WHAT?” he yelled. “Okay. Right. Well, thanks for the info. See you later.”
He hung up and walked toward Farrell, grabbing a knife on the way. She held her breath, and moved agitatedly despite herself. She didn't care about hiding her fear at that point. Her time had come; he was gonna kill her tied to that chair. Except he didn't. He leaned on her and she felt the proximity of his bare chest. She could smell the perfume of his hair, still wet from the shower. She felt the knife on her wrist, but it didn't hurt. Instead, the bonds fell to the floor and her hands were free.
And yet, she didn't move. Neither did he. He was breathing down her neck. She couldn't help but feel attracted to this strong muscled body leaning on her. He caressed her arm with his fingertips, just like he'd done it before at the musical. She closed her eyes to savor the touch. She was getting wet.
Carter knelt in front of her, and slid his hands along her thighs and under her t-shirt. The feeling was a delight. She ran her fingers through his hair, slowly brought his lips to hers, and kissed him. It was a long, wet kiss. An exploration of lips and tongue, caressing, possessing, obsessing his mouth with passionate moves. She bit his bottom lip and heard him moan. His hands were all over her. She was wet with desire.
Farrell knocked off the chair and pushed him to the floor. Then she moved on top of him to feel his hard cock against her body. Even through the jeans, it was
Farrell kept looking around while considering her options. She saw her gun lying on the table in front of the couch. Which meant that, even if she was to break free from her bonds—which would already be a little miracle—she’d have to cross the room, get her gun, and only after that make it for the door. It wouldn’t be such a bad plan if she knew where Carter was, or if she could actually free herself. Because although she tried to move her hands, the bonds were so tight, she couldn’t do anything to even move just half an inch.
Suddenly, the door behind her opened, and Carter showed up topless and wet. Farrell cursed herself for thinking he was hot. What was that; Stockholm syndrome? No, she couldn’t allow it. He was the antithesis of everything she liked. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. While she was having this internal fight with her conscience, he just looked at her. He stood in the middle of the room and kept staring at her, to the point that she became (even more) uncomfortable.
“Are you ready to tell me where you hid the ruby?” he asked.
Farrell didn’t answer. She looked down at her feet.
“Oh I see you’re putting up the act of the strong heroine,” Carter said with irony.
“It’s not an act,” she replied firmly. “I’m stronger than you are.”
“Oh really?” Carter grinned. “Tell me why you’re the one tied up then?”
“Because you drugged me. That’s no proof of strength, it’s plain manipulation.”
Carter was obviously trying to find words to answer her, but nothing came out for a while. “Enough chit-chat, little girl,” he finally said.
“I already told you to stop calling me that,” Farrell interrupted.
“That’s what you are: a frail, weak, little girl, not knowing who she’s up against.”
“ Whom ,” she corrected. “And you don’t know me either.” Farrell let the silence hang for a little before making Carter’s self-confidence crumble. “Try this: stop considering me a woman, and start considering me a rival thief.”
Carter seemed to be thinking about the alternative. “You’re good, I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you,” she said with a smile.
Carter’s phone rang. “Your timing’s terrible,” he said to whomever was on the other end of the line. “What is it?” His eyes widened. “WHAT?” he yelled. “Okay. Right. Well, thanks for the info. See you later.”
He hung up and walked toward Farrell, grabbing a knife on the way. She held her breath, and moved agitatedly despite herself. She didn't care about hiding her fear at that point. Her time had come; he was gonna kill her tied to that chair. Except he didn't. He leaned on her and she felt the proximity of his bare chest. She could smell the perfume of his hair, still wet from the shower. She felt the knife on her wrist, but it didn't hurt. Instead, the bonds fell to the floor and her hands were free.
And yet, she didn't move. Neither did he. He was breathing down her neck. She couldn't help but feel attracted to this strong muscled body leaning on her. He caressed her arm with his fingertips, just like he'd done it before at the musical. She closed her eyes to savor the touch. She was getting wet.
Carter knelt in front of her, and slid his hands along her thighs and under her t-shirt. The feeling was a delight. She ran her fingers through his hair, slowly brought his lips to hers, and kissed him. It was a long, wet kiss. An exploration of lips and tongue, caressing, possessing, obsessing his mouth with passionate moves. She bit his bottom lip and heard him moan. His hands were all over her. She was wet with desire.
Farrell knocked off the chair and pushed him to the floor. Then she moved on top of him to feel his hard cock against her body. Even through the jeans, it was
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